Here & Now
by Heart Iconography
Summary: There was an urge to scream, loud and long, until she appeared out of the nothingness. Her bright eyes and blond hair lighting up every dank corner of his soul. You said you'd keep her safe, and now you can't even find her, Dixon. Some protector you are. (Sequel to Was & Gone)
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's note: **Thank you all for your support after I removed my story. I'm glad you all enjoy it so much & I definitely felt guilty about leaving you in the lurch. While, yes, my story did get some pretty negative reviews, what bothered me the most were the people who were being rude to me personally. Mostly it was happening on my Tumblr account, which I have since deleted. So far I've gotten nothing but positivity on FF since reposting. I'm going to be continuing on with it, but I think solely sticking to this site. Again, thank you all so much._

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Daryl couldn't tell how long he had been out; how long fever dreams had replaced waking life, and what, if any of it, had been real. Running a hand over his face, sticky from dried sweat, he remembered Beth vaguely; how she had crouched in front of him, blond hair closer to a halo, promising to make him soup. How long ago had that been?

His mouth felt wicked dry. Daryl ran his tongue over his cracked lips as he sat up slowly. He looked around the room, trying to gather the time. He figured it to be six or seven at night. The sun was simmering down into gold shades that cast long shadows, and there was nothing to be heard in the house. He picked up the water bottle on the table beside him and drank longer than he knew was smart - especially if he had been out a while, and Beth had went through their meager supply.

"Beth?" he called, voice raspy.

No response. His heart clenched in a way that was too familiar whenever she didn't answer him immediately. _Don't go panicking, _he told himself, _maybe the girl went into town; she's sure as hell stubborn enough to take off lookin' for medicine when you go and get the sniffles._ He walked slowly from the living room into the kitchen, hoping to find her staring out the big window into the yard, or at least a note - she did know he could read, right?

Daryl felt light headed still - could tell from the thick fog in his head that he was still far from well. He blinked heavily at the can of soup he saw sitting on the counter. Hadn't she been just about to make him soup? He clenched his fist, nails digging angrily into his palm. _It ain't what it looks like. She's probably made more than a couple cans of soup._

He leaned heavily on the counter. There was an urge to scream, loud and long, until she appeared out of the nothingness. Her bright eyes and blond hair lighting up every dank corner of his soul_. You said you'd keep her safe, and now you can't even find her, Dixon. Some protector you are. Fuck up, just like your ol' man. _He tried to wish the thoughts away, but they remained as he pushed his body up the stairs so quickly it made his head swim.

Nothing looked familiar, as though the heat of his fever had burned the hallways and the bedroom into nothing. But he recognized her pack. Her sweater _- it was getting dark out, wouldn't she be cold? _The journal, left on the bed, closed with the pen next to it. He sat down heavily on the comforter, knees giving out as much as he insisted for them to hold, to move, to run.

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut against the images of before. Her pack, once again, left. And Beth gone, so quickly and suddenly, as if she had never existed. As if she had never looked at him and held him as like he was worth a damn. Well, what was he worth now?

"Damn it, Beth," Daryl hissed to himself. "You can't be gone."

He grabbed the journal and opened it, expecting to find it empty except for the words he had written there for her. She had never had a chance to mention it. Had it made her smile? Cry? Had she even looked inside of it? But when he flipped to the first page, he saw Beth's handwriting, tinier and more feminine than he could've ever imagined:

_Day two: I never dream about M. It's as if what happened with him is so horrific I can't even recreate it without focus or will - neither of which I'll lend my memories. Let that cabin burn. Let T. & J. burn. Let M. burn and turn to ash._

Daryl threw the journal across the room. It smashed into the mirror, cracking the glass and sending shards of it falling like rain. If Beth had wanted Mark gone, Daryl would've searched 'til the day he died; fill him with holes and watch the red spill out - funny how monsters bled the same as people. Daryl had certainly seen enough of it to know.

Had she left him? The doubt ate away at Daryl. She had done nothing but try to leave since the moment he had found her - was afraid that he wouldn't want her around, not when he knew - and he just kept screwing it up with his temper. After their time together, as wrong as it may have seemed, he thought of her as his - his to teach, his to look out for, his to return to her sister. He had fucked it up then and he had fucked it up now.

Part of Daryl knew if Beth was going to leave, she would have taken her pack... but maybe she had wanted to leave him with the supplies - especially since she had known he was sick. Or maybe she had left it so he would think she hadn't gone and would wait around to give her more of a headstart - but his gut ached the same way it had when she had been taken, and every day since until he had found her.

With his body too weak to run as he first had, he walked out into the yard, and then into the forest. The crickets echoed emptiness. He felt many, many miles away from Beth. He walked carefully into the foliage, eyes trained on the ground, trying to focus; they watered at the effort - at least that's what Daryl told himself. He was alone again - the man who many said was an island to himself, left deserted on the sandy shores of his darkness.

"What do I do, Beth?" he asked the wind. "God damn it, what am I supposed to do now?"


	2. Chapter 2

_"You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon," Beth said. _

_"Can't you just stay put, girl?" he asked. _

_Around them the house burned to the ground. They sat on the porch, watching everything turn to ash. The moonshine in his hand turned to torn-out journal pages. He uncrumpled them. Smoothed them out. The lines were blank and he threw them into the fire. _

_"We don't always get to choose," Beth told him. _

_He thought that her hair looked white against the flames. That her eyes were bluer than usual. She rested her chin in her hand and regarded him seriously. Her brows drew together until a line creased the skin of her forehead. He thought about smoothing it away with his thumb, but his hands were always dirty. _

_"You ain't gotta go," he said. _

_"I do," she said. "But you'll find me." _

_"Can't we just stay here?" he asked. _

_"No," she said sadly. "It's already gone."_

Daryl woke with a force, as though he was dropped from a great distance onto the bed. He didn't know how long he had been out, but the fuzziness in his head had finally begun to fade away. He blinked blearily, trying to undo the knot in his stomach that the dream had left him with.

He knew he had to find Beth. It had killed Daryl to know he was too weak to track her the moment he 'd realized she was missing. Had it been a few years ago, he would've tore through the forest looking for her, delirious with fever and bones aching with flu. _What good would you be to the girl dead, Dixon? _he had asked himself.

It had proven to be the right decision because despite his fear and worry and anxiety, he had passed out almost immediately. He could not remember waking once during the night. He may not be better yet, but he was well enough now. Idle hands were the devil's work, and he had done the devil's work long enough.

Chugging the bottled water Beth had left next to the bed, he got up, stretching his stiff muscles. He went over what he knew, though the facts were so few it was depressing. She had woken him when it was still light out - maybe ten or eleven in the morning. When he realized she was gone, it was almost dusk. And now, it was probably around one or two in the afternoon.

While he gathered their supplies, he tried to calculate just how far someone could've gotten in that time. Though he was shit at math, and had always been, this wasn't no 'one train departing at whatever o'clock' problems. This was a real situation, with real variables, and for some reason his brain was always quick with that. Would they be on foot? Would they have a car? Hell, was it even a 'they'?

Still, something in his gut told him it was.

He grabbed his bow and made his way into the kitchen. He stuffed as much water and food as he could manage into his pack. He looked out into the yard, towards the treeline. _Where are ya, Beth? _he wondered for the millioth time. Quickly, he made his way outside towards the forest. Daryl examined the ground with a critical eye; he walked around in a complete circle before he found it.

On the ground, next to hard tracks in a pile on pine needles, was a scrap of denim. The shade looked to be about the same as Beth's jeans. He picked it up, clenching it in his fist. From the scene around him, it was easy to tell something had went wrong pretty quickly. His best guess was she had either tripped, or had been thrown, but given the complete absence of Beth, he guessed the latter.

Daryl felt anger clawing its way up his entire body. He wanted to lash out. To kick, swing, hit something. To scream. There wasn't time though. No time to lose his shit. No time to flip out. No time to swing golf clubs at walkers. He had to find Beth. The more time passed, potentially the more distance was put between them.

Daryl picked up three sets of footprints. They appeared to belong to two men, and Beth. He kept the piece of denim clenched in his fist. He told himself not to think of it. Find Beth first. Then kill. Then destroy. Find Beth first. She's what's important. As long as she's alive. As long as she's alive. Find. Beth. First. Find her before...

He found himself on the road they had taken only a couple days ago. He looked both ways, praying for some sort of sign. Right or left. Maybe even straight across. Which way? _Damn it, Beth, _w_hich way? _He circled a small distance around, looking for hints or clue when he stumbled across a hair-band. Beth was always picking those things up, and now she had dropped one.

_Good girl, _Daryl thought. _Smart girl. _

He picked up the scrap of elastic and pocketed it. Maybe it had been dropped accidentally. Hell, maybe it wasn't even hers. Maybe he was a fool for even hoping, but it looked like Beth's - and almost nothin' about that girl was an accident, definitely not anymore. He squinted against the sun. At least it gave him a direction. A flicker of optimism. Something that felt a lot like Beth, but wasn't.

Daryl began jogging, pushing his body immediately into discomfort. _This is no time to be a pussy, _Merle's voice said in the back of his mind. _You ready for a war, little brother? _Despite the stitch in his side, despite the remnants of his illness, despite his pounding head - Daryl was ready. And Daryl wasn't going to lose.

Not this time. 


	3. Chapter 3

_**AN: **Hello everybody! I'm sorry it's been such an awfully long time since I updated this story - I never forgot about it! I've got a lot of ideas for the future of our favorite OTP. Thanks for stickin' with me!_

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Daryl felt like his whole life had been running; that he had been born running, and he would die running. Sweat dripped down his face, getting in his eyes and burning. He finally stopped in a small town, with run down buildings, and tried to catch his breath.

There had been so few footprints or signs of struggle that he could only imagine whoever had taken Beth had went by car. _Damn it. God damn it, fucking shit. _Grabbing a water bottle out of his pack, he chugged the contents and tossed the empty bottle aside in anger. Why couldn't they catch a break, just once?

"Just one... fuckin'... time," he growled to himself.

He felt the contents of his stomach attempt to claw their way up his throat. Daryl swallowed and swallowed again. He would not be sick. He was not some little punk bitch. Time was of the essence and he didn't have a second to waste pukin' up his guts everywhere.

Daryl forced his legs to move, not as fast as he would've liked, but still far from slow. He took in the town around him, the boarded up windows, and two or three cars left abandoned. Just one of them needed to have gas. He could hotwire it - he could hotwire anything if it meant finding Beth, but it needed gas.

Saddling up to the first car, a beat-up red tin-can, he suddenly stopped and looked a few feet ahead of him. There was a truck, that unlike the rest of the junkers, seemed rather well maintained. Even clean. Daryl jogged up to it and placed his hand on the hood - warm. Not just sun warm, but driving warm.

_Beth! _

Daryl wanted to shout her name at the top of his lungs. There was no way to know it was even her, but it was the first good sign he had gotten all day. His eyes viciously swept the surroundings. The truck wasn't particularly parked in front of any building, but the owners couldn't be too far.

While he was looking for a way inside of a boarded up building, he heard a woman scream. He heard Beth. Daryl knew it, could feel it. He spun around, trying to figure out where the sound had come from. Suddenly it came again, with a loud crash.

Daryl took off running toward the direction it came from. He stopped outside of a building with its door torn off and placed back on. Daryl could hear two men talking in hushed tones and heard one word that made his blood boil: _Blondie. _

He grit his teeth so hard his jaw cracked under the pressure. Daryl silently moved to one of the windows and saw the men further inside. One was taller, slightly more muscular - the other was shorter and skinny.

"Come on, Mark!" the one guy exclaimed, "Blondie ain't even pretty at this point. I think it's time we just get it over with."

Daryl saw red. _Mark. _He had touched Beth, again. Had hurt Beth, again. Daryl was going to kill him. There was no doubt about it, and Daryl wouldn't even make it fast. Not for either of them. Not until they were bloody, and crying out for their Mama's. Not until they fuckin' earned it.

Ripping the door off the entrance, Daryl charged into the building, putting an arrow in Mark's leg before the muscular man could even register what the sound had been. The smaller man, Tommy, scrambled for a weapon but Daryl sent his second arrow into his chest, right by the heart.

"You motherfuckers!" Daryl shouted.

"Listen, man," Tommy said, "you can have her."

"What's left of her," Mark added, with a shit-eating grin.

Daryl strode up over Mark and punched him, putting all of his weight behind it. He hit the man again, and again, and again, getting lost in the crash of bone against bone. Mark went limp - unconscious or dead, Daryl couldn't tell and didn't really care.

"You touched her!" Daryl shouted. "You made her want to die, you pieces of shit. She's a good girl. Ain't done nothin' to no one in her whole damn life."

Tommy went to move again, but Daryl kicked him hard with his boot clad foot. He kicked him a second time, hearing the crunch of rib caving in. The wind went out of the man with a sickening rush, and he laid back down on the floor.

"Aw, come on!" Daryl shouted. "No fight in ya? Not as fun if I'm not a girl? Come on, fight me, you asshole."

Tommy didn't move. Simply looked up at Daryl with dark, dead eyes. The sound of his breathing grew wet and heavy, and Daryl knew he was dying. That the man was asking him for a clean kill. To just end it. Instead, Daryl pressed on the arrow, digging it deeper into the man's flesh and spit on the floor next to him.

He turned to mark, loading his bow once more to put an arrow through the grotesquely swollen eye. Then, for good measure, kicked him hard and swift in the head. Daryl turned back to Tommy, who appeared to be fading quickly.

"Where is she?" Daryl demanded.

"Back..." Tommy wheezed, "the back room..."

Daryl left them, tearing through the rooms until he reached the back of the building. He slid the bolt lock off the back door and opened it. His heart clenched at what he saw. There sat Beth, tied up in a chair, her face almost as swollen and bruised and plastered in blood as Mark's.

"Beth," Daryl said softly, "Beth, I'm here now."

She whimpered, a small, painful noise. He walked behind Beth and bent down to untie her until she started struggling again. Daryl drew back quickly, moving around to look at her, hands in front of him as if surrendering.

"Beth, it's just me. It's Daryl," he said. "You're safe now. I got you, girl. I got you. You're okay. I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?"

"D-Dar..." she stopped and coughed.

"That's right - just me, girl," he said.

She suddenly looked up at him, the blue of her one good eye staring at his face. Daryl could see every mark, every cut, every bruise. His fists clenched, gut churned. He wanted to lash out, but there was no one left to lash out. Only this girl, this one girl who had weaseled her way into his heart.

"We're gettin' out of here, Beth," he said. "It's over now."


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm gonna have to pick you up, girl," Daryl said.

Beth said nothing, but shook her head slowly, as if the small movement pained her. _Damn it, she ain't gonna be able to up and walk outta here, _he thought to himself. He looked helplessly around the room, hoping for an answer, but found none.

"Listen, Beth, it'll be just like before, y'remember?" he asked, crouching down in front of her. "A serious piggy-back, except... y'know, front-wise."

"Like... my ankle," she said hoarsely.

"Yup," Daryl responded. "Just like when y'busted your ankle. It's gonna hurt to move ya, but I guess you'd know that already."

"Yes," she wheezed out.

Daryl looked up into her face. It pained him to see her this way - one eye closed over, cheekbone swollen and purple, bottom lip split. He could make out bruises on her neck and shoulders. He imagined her ribs were dead ticklish, too.

"It's gonna be okay, Beth. Y'trust me?" he asked.

She raised her arm to rest on his shoulder, gripping her torn up fingers in the fabric of his vest. Daryl began counting to three but lifted her up on two - an old trick he had learned from the mom's on TV. She whimpered in pain, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Y'don't hafta to look," he said when he reached the door, knowing the corpses of her attackers were only a few feet away.

"No," Beth forced out. "I need to see it."

He walked out of the room, into the hallway. It only took him seconds to reach the bodies. Wanting to get her out of the building as soon as possible, he lengthened his stride only to have her stop him.

"No," she said. "Just stay for a minute."

He stopped. Beth surveyed the wreckage, saying nothing - not even reacting. Daryl wasn't sure what he had expected, but it wasn't this. Suddenly Beth tugged on his vest where her hand was still fisted. When he looked down at her, she was staring up at him.

"I should've been the one to kill them," she said.

"I know," Daryl responded. "But they're dead all the same."

"I know," Beth echoed. "Let's go."

Daryl walked her outside, and seeing no other option, opened the truck door and deposited her in the front seat. She shifted uncomfortably, probably wishing like hell she was anywhere else. Daryl pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I know it ain't ideal, but given the circumstances..." he trailed off.

"It's... fine," Beth said in a clip tone.

"Just stay here. I'm gonna go fish the keys off..."

"Mark," she said quietly. "He doesn't... he didn't let Tommy drive."

"You ain't gotta say their names," Daryl told her.

"I'm not sure it makes a difference," Beth said, turning her head to look out the windshield.

Daryl lingered for a second, wanting to say something, but not knowing what. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he took off back towards the building. It took him only a couple of minutes to get the keys off the dead man. He grimaced.

"Piece of shit," he spat again at the corpse. "I ain't a God fearin' man, but I gotta hope there's a special place in Hell for you - who knows, maybe I'll be seein' you and we can do this over and over again."

By the time he got back to the truck, Beth was leaning her head against the window, fighting to stay conscious. He slid into the driver's seat and started the truck up. It had more than a half tank of gas and no out right problems - it would have to do.

"You ready?" he asked Beth.

"Where are we going?"

"Back," he said. "The house is our best bet. We need to get y'fixed up and you need to rest."

"Okay," Beth said. "The bed was nice."

"Well, we'll get you two reacquainted soon enough."

He made a U-turn and headed back towards the house they had been at only days before. Beth seemed to drift in and out of consciousness. Daryl kept an eye on her, and woke her when she was out for more than a couple minutes at a time. Couldn't be too careful in a situation like this.

Daryl watched the trees blur by him. He tried not to think, not to imagine, what she had been put through. He had no idea how to help her - not emotionally, at least. He had been blundering through at best before, and now... He looked over at her, small and broken in the passenger seat.

Beth's breathing caught in her throat and she moaned fretfully in her sleep; the sound made Daryl's muscles snap taut with anger both suddenly and immediately. He wanted to lash out, to keep swinging, and killing - but there was nothing left to fight against. There was only Beth.

"Beth," he said gruffly. When she didn't wake, he said her name again, louder this time. "Beth!"

She woke with a start, hand fluttering to her throat. Her gaze darted around the truck and settled on Daryl. Beth's shoulders slumped with relief and she took a deep breath. Then another. And another. She turned to face him, exhaustion still clear on her face.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize," he said.

A moment passed between them in silence. It was heavier than anything he had felt. Every little bit of him wished to have the right thing to say - something that would make her smile again, laugh again. Something that would make her forget.

"Hey, Daryl?" she said softly.

"Yeah?" he said, eyes on the road.

"I knew you'd find me," she responded matter-of-factly.

His chest ached at her words with something he could not name - something he had never felt before - and something he never wanted to lose again.


	5. Chapter 5

Daryl had let Beth sleep while he carried her inside the house. He thought maybe it would be easier for her, not having to see where she had been taken, the long line of trees towering menacingly. Beth moaned in her sleep uncomfortably when he sat her down on the bed.

"Hey, girl," Daryl said, nudging her arm. "Beth!"

She woke up, looking at his face, trying to register where she was. A part of him wondered if she thought she was dreaming - that she had fallen asleep in this bed, and woken up again thinking it was just another nightmare. _I wish t'hell that was the truth. _

"Sorry," Beth muttered.

"I got this for ya," he said holding out a water bottle. "Drink up."

He watched her drink the bottle faster than was probably smart, but he didn't have the heart to tell her to slow down. Who knew if she had even had anything to drink since she had been taken? She winced a little with each swallow, but didn't stop until every drop was gone.

"Better?" he asked.

"Mmh," Beth hummed. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

"I gotta fix ya up first, Beth," he said.

"Yeah? You got a magic wand I don't know about?" she asked bitterly.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. Daryl would've given anything to undo what had been done to Beth - his friend Beth, his girl Beth; the one person he was supposed to be watching out for. The one who kept slipping through his hands like sand and coming back changed. _Bippity, bopitty, boo, _he snarled at himself. _What fucking good am I? _

"I need to make sure that nothin' is broken, and clean up some of the cuts," he said. "Can't risk you gettin' an infection."

"Nothing's broken," she said.

"How would you know?" he asked.

"My father," she replied. "Trust me, nothing's broken."

"I'd feel better 'bout it if you'd let me check," Daryl protested.

"Well, I'd feel better if the water had been moonshine, but we both gotta make do, I guess."

"At least let me help with your scrapes," he said.

"Fine," she relented. "Is there a first aid kit?"

"Yeah, I got it right here," he said, picking it up off the nightstand.

"I'll be able to do most of it myself," she said, reaching for the kit, "but I think I've got some cuts on my back that I won't be able to reach. And my face, probably."

"Are you gonna be okay for me to...?" Daryl began to ask, trailing off awkwardly, not wanting to say it.

"Probably not, but we don't really have a choice, right?" she asked, her chin trembling as if she was about to cry.

"Beth, I need ya to look at me," Daryl said. When her gazed flickered up to his, he continued. "I'd never hurt ya, girl. I'd rather cut off my own arms. You just gotta trust me for a little bit longer, and then it'll be done. Just like that. I'll be as fast as I can."

She took a deep breath and scooted her body forward to let him sit behind her. Daryl moved the kit and lowered himself onto the mattress. Suddenly he felt as though he had no idea what to do with his hands. Sensing his hesitation, she lifted her shirt up as modestly as she could.

Daryl saw red - a murderous haze. Cuts, both shallow and deep, and bruises. Everywhere. All over her pale skin. He clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles cracked loudly in the silence. He could make out fingerprints. _Fuckin' animals, God damn animals..._

"Daryl?" Beth asked, her voice small. "It's okay."

"It ain't," Daryl responded with an air of finality. He tried to steady his hands as he began disinfecting her cuts. She didn't even flinch, but he felt her breathing go erratic at the touch of his fingers against her bare skin. "Beth, y'okay?"

"Just... can you talk to me?" she asked. "If I can hear your voice, I know it's you and it's alright."

"Talkin' ain't really my strong suit," he admitted. "But I can give it a shot. Got any suggestions for topics?"

"Anything."

"One time, in math class, I started my textbook on fire."

"What?" Beth asked.

"The teacher was goin' on and on about long division or some shit," Daryl said, "and I was in the ninth grade, I think. And I was so bored. I had my lighter in my pocket, and I just started to burn the edge of the book. I sat at the back by myself and I didn't think anyone would notice. But next thing I knew the book just went up. Best guess is that Merle had spilled somethin' on it - like a vodka somethin'."

"Wow," Beth said, her breathing having slowed down some. "What happened after that?"

"Well, the teacher was less than pleased. All the kids thought it was pretty badass though. Of course, they thought I did it on purpose. Got suspended for a while. There were rumors going around by the time I got back that I had planned on burning the school down."

"Well, you did burn down a house," she said a little wistfully, as if the memory was so long ago she couldn't even remember she had been there. Daryl supposed, to her, that the girl in that memory and her now were almost completely different people. But he didn't see it that way.

"I got led astray by a bad influence," Daryl said ruefully.

"Yeah, well if someone suggested that you should jump off a cliff, would you do it?" Beth asked, looking back over her shoulder.

"I'unno," he said, pulling her shirt back down. "Maybe if they were blonde."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note: As always I would like to thank everyone who has stuck with this story. You all amaze & humble me with your reviews. I've been doing my best to be more consistent with my updates & thank you all for your patience when real life (or lack of inspiration) gets in the way! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
**_

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While Beth slept, Daryl found himself outside of the house, staring up into the starless sky. For once in his life, he didn't know what to do with his hands; swinging, shooting, hunting - all of that came naturally. But this, healing someone, helping someone... he wasn't sure his blunt fingers and their square nails were cut out for the job.

He had stayed with her for a good hour while she slept. Just watchin' her, prayin' she didn't wake up and see him. Daryl had meant to leave after checking in on her, but she had just looked so damn small in that bed. Every time her brow creased, or she muttered in her sleep, he wished there was more that he could do - anything that he could do - but all he could manage was starin'.

There was a headache that had been building behind his eyes - some kind of terrible pain that he couldn't shake. It blurred the edges of vision and made him dizzy. Daryl pressed his fingers into his temples, but they were as useless as they had ever been when it came to anything important. Anything that required a little gentleness, a little care.

Daryl Dixon, roughneck. Daryl Dixon, hillbilly. Daryl Dixon, emotionally stunted. He didn't know jack shit about women in the best of situations. What was he supposed to say to her? How was he supposed to know when to push her and when to back off? He was notorious for letting the first shit-brained thing he thought just come flyin' out his trap. Daryl groaned, feeling a sharp twinge of pain just between his eyes.

"Penny for your thoughts," said a small, strained voice.

Daryl turned to see Beth standing in the doorway, covered in a sheen of sweat. Her face was pale, making her bruises look deeper than before. She grimaced, leaning her weight onto her left foot. Daryl watched her pull a red sweater around herself, something she must have dug out of the closet in the bedroom. She looked like hell, but it was the happiest he had ever been to see the flames.

"Penny's worth less than it used to be, girl," he said. "You shouldn't have gotten out of bed."

"Well, didn't kill me," she said with a slow, pained shrug of her shoulder.

"S'pose not," he agreed.

He wanted to order her back into the room. To tell her to rest. To stop being so damn stubborn. But the sound of her voice calmed his thoughts some and it was hard to leave her - for any length of time. Daryl was sure he would never feel one hundred percent certain she would be there when he got back. Even now.

"What were you thinking about?" Beth asked again. "You looked mighty pensive."

"Just wishin' like hell someone who could actually help you was here. Like your sister. Or Carol. Or anyone else, really."

Beth said nothing. Instead she looked up into the inky black sky. He wondered what she saw - what she thought of the darkness. How it stretched and devoured everything around it. How you could get lost in it.

"Beth," Daryl started, "are you sure... I could find Maggie for ya. I could do that much, at least."

She only shook her head in response. Her expression, which had been open before, seemed to shut against him; and once again he was on the outside looking in. _Fuckin' shit, _he cursed at himself. _Way to go, dumbass, off to a great start already. _

"I ain't gonna push ya, girl," Daryl said, trying to correct his mistake immediately. "But it's an open offer if ya go and change your mind."

"And," Beth started, her voice so quiet he almost couldn't hear her, "if you ever change your mind - if you want to go find Rick, or Carol, or Michonne..."

Part of him could not believe she was still on about it - he had to remind himself that she wasn't trying to hurt him. That she was pushing him away because she thought he would be happier without her. He tamped down the urge to lash out at her, though his anger seemed to boil in the back of his throat, waiting to spill out if he wasn't careful.

He had to be fuckin' careful, for once in his life.

"Nope," he responded simply.

"Daryl, I mean it," she argued. "I'm not saying you have to. I'm just saying, open offer."

"Ain't nowhere else I'd rather be," he said gruffly.

"Yeah," Beth said sarcastically, "we've got ourselves a real dream situation going on."

"You're here," he said. "You're alive. That was the dream."

"Maybe you should've aimed bigger."

"Seemed mighty big at the time," he responded.

Beth said nothing to that, but only continued to stare up at the sky. Daryl got the urge to hold her hand, the way he had once in the graveyard, but was afraid it would make her uncomfortable. He pressed his nails into his palms until it stung.

"You know," Beth said, turning to face him one last time before she left, "I used to love the stars, but I think I like it better this way now."

Daryl wasn't sure what she was trying to tell him. He was shit at metaphors, reading between the lines - anything that required a bit of subtly. All he knew was that, deep down in his tired bones, something about what she said made him sadder than he had any right to be.


	7. Chapter 7

"Made you soup, girl," Daryl said through the bedroom door.

After they had spoken, she had went back to sleep - or at least, Daryl assumed she had. Either way, he hadn't caught a glimpse of her since. He was balancing a hot bowl of chicken noddle soup on the tips of his fingers, feeling the heat burn and gnaw at his skin.

When she didn't answer, he called again. Knocked with his free hand. After a few more minutes, he opened the door. He saw Beth sitting on her knees onto of the bed, journal placed in front of her. He also noticed the glass had been cleaned up from the broken mirror and disposed of.

"I told you to relax," Daryl said. "Not go cleanin' up my messes."

Beth made a small sound in the back of her throat, but otherwise made no move to acknowledge his presence. Her eyes were fixated on the page. Daryl could see her tiny writing in the back of his mind, her words haunting him still.

"Y'hungry?" he asked, setting the bowl of soup down on the dresser.

"No," Beth said. "Did you read this?"

"I had to," Daryl responded. "Thought maybe there was somethin' in it that could help me find ya."

"Of course."

"I'm real sorry 'bout it," Daryl said. "I ain't never had a... diary, or whatever... but I still know enough not to go reading someone else's."

"It's okay," Beth ground out, finally looking up at him. "You were just trying to find me. I can't be mad about that."

"Can if ya want," Daryl countered.

"Lot of good it would do me," she said.

Daryl rubbed his palm against the back of his neck awkwardly. He picked the soup back up and set it down next to her on the bed stand. His eyes followed Beth as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and picked up the spoon, twirling it around in the noodles.

"Feelings ain't gotta do you any good. Or bad. You just feel 'em cause you feel 'em," Daryl said. "Not that I want ya to be pissed at me."

"I'm not," Beth insisted.

"Y'are," he said with a small smirk. "A little bit."

She said nothing but stuck a spoonful of soup in her mouth. Daryl watched her, feeling more pleased with himself for getting her to eat than he should. He shuffled back a few feet and leaned against the wall, not sure what to do with himself. Was she sick of him hovering? Did she want space?

"Well, I'm just glad you found me," Beth said softly.

"I wouldn't read it again, you know, if you wanted to..." Daryl started.

"I don't think so," Beth cut him off. "But I'll keep the book in case I change my mind."

"Okay," Daryl said easily.

"Did you have some soup too?" Beth asked.

"Yeah," Daryl answered. "Figured you were still asleep."

Beth continued to eat the soup slowly. He listened to the clank and scratch of the metal against the glass. Her brow furrowed, either in pain or in thought, Daryl couldn't be sure.

"Y'okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "Just my ribs."

Daryl nodded. He wished like hell he still had Merle's bag of medication, but that had gotten used up quicker than anyone expected - even rationing them. Daryl clenched his teeth, hating feeling useless.

"I could go back into town," he said. "Raid the stores and houses around. Maybe someone'll have something."

"As much as the possibility of a little relief is tempting, I'm not well enough to cover you. Or even myself. And you know it."

Daryl inclined his head, trying to think of another plan. Beth continued to eat her soup, not really looking at him. He took the opportunity to scan her over, taking in each bruise, cut, and injury. The longer he looked, the sicker he felt.

"Was it..."

"Was it what?" Beth asked, when he seemed unable to continue.

"Was it this bad last time?" he asked. "When you got out on your own, I mean. Were you this hurt?"

"No," Beth said. "They wanted to keep me around, so they didn't really do too much to hurt me. This time, they wanted to kill me, so..."

Suddenly, Daryl kicked his foot hard into the dresser. Something in his brain shut off, and his only response was violence. They had wanted to keep her around. So they could use her. Beth - use Beth. Blond hair, blue eyes, innocence - Beth. Beth who they touched. Beth who they tried to break. Their Beth. _His_ Beth. He kicked the dresser again, knocking a dusty lamp to the ground.

"Daryl, you're scaring me," Beth said softly.

"Damn it, Beth, I'm sorry," Daryl said, her words stopping his rage like being splashed with cold water. "I didn't mean it."

"It's okay to be mad," she said, almost echoing his words to her. "I'm mad, too. But they're dead, Daryl. You can't keep chasing after ghosts for vengeance."

"I know," he said, exhaling slowly. "I keep tryin' just to focus on you, but it kills me, Beth. I was supposed to be lookin' out for you. Just like last time."

"You can't control anything in this world, Daryl," she said. "It's a miracle you even found me. You were sick as a dog last I saw you. The fever was talkin' more than you were."

"It's not enough."

"It's all we got," Beth responded. "I wish it were different too. I wish we had never went to that funeral home. That I went on being me and you went on being you. I wish that I could run away from all this. But this is all we got. I was taken. You found me. You didn't save me from everything, but you saved me from dying, and that's a whole hell of a lot nowadays."

"I guess it's not nothing."

"It's not nothing," she agreed quietly. "It's not."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's note: As always, thank you guys so much for your reviews. I love every single word of them - you & your feedback is what keeps me writing instead of just playing out these elaborate Bethyl scenarios in my head. I thought I'd do something a little lighter today, because darker times are coming...**_

* * *

Daryl felt the sun beating down on the back of his neck. As far as plans went, this one was pretty shit-brained, but he was committed to it now. He pushed the wheelbarrow over the uneven ground, cursing when water spilled out over the edge.

"Damn it," he spat, "God damn it all!"

He stopped to rest for a minute, picking at the callouses on his hands. The house was still a few yards away. In the last couple of days Beth had been moving around more and sleeping less - a good sign if ever there was one; and to Daryl, that was a cause for celebration.

Of course, he didn't feel comfortable praising her out right, and even if Daryl was, he worried it would bring up bad memories. Instead, he did the one thing he knew how to do - he used his actions. Yesterday Daryl had stumbled across a stream when he had been hunting, and saw the red wheelbarrow resting on the side of the house when he returned. He ran inside to check the downstairs bathroom - the tub was a bit small, but it was still a tub.

The idea had started forming in his head. Daryl began scouring the cabinets until he found shampoo and body wash. Hell, he could even heat some of the water up over a fire. _A nice, hot bath. Anyone still alive in this fucked- up mess would love that, right?_

Unfortunately, the trip to and from the house didn't leave much water by the end of it. He had already made about four trips, but Daryl thought he was starting to get the hang of it. The wheelbarrow now was still half full - a victory in its own right. And if he could get it the rest of the way without spilling anymore, then he'd have enough for Beth.

Gritting his teeth, Daryl started walking back, arms aching with exertion. Who knew trying to keep a wheelbarrow steady would be such hard work? By the time he reached the yard, he was thankful that all the water still remained. Daryl pulled his load up to the side of the house, and began filling the large bucket he'd found to heat up the water.

"What're you up to, Daryl Dixon?" said Beth from behind him.

"Damn it, girl," Daryl muttered to himself. "It was s'posed to be a surprise."

"You wanted to surprise me?" she asked.

"Ain't nothin' special. Just found a stream and thought you might wanna clean up."

"Are you saying I smell?" Beth asked in a laughing voice.

"Naw," Daryl said awkwardly. "Even if ya did, I wouldn't be able to smell ya over my pits."

"Well, if you wanted it to be a surprise, you shouldn't have spilled so much water inside," Beth said. "I stepped in a huge puddle leading into the bathroom."

"Shit," Daryl groused. "I didn't even think of that."

"I wish you would've told me. I could've helped."

"I wanted to do somethin' nice for ya, Beth," Daryl said. "Doesn't really work if I let you do half the heavy lifting."

Beth said nothing but came to stand beside him. They both looked at the flames flickering away in front of them. As the water began to heat up, steam rose from it, dancing phantom ballet in the air above them, mingling with the smoke. Light and dark. Beth looked at Daryl.

"Should be just 'bout ready," Daryl said. "I got the soaps set up in the bathroom. I'll take this in and rustle ya up a towel."

"Hey," she said. "Not so fast. Are you not going to let me say thank you first?"

"Y'don't need to."

"No," Beth argued. "This was really thoughtful, Daryl. I can't wait, honest. It's been so long since I've had a hot bath."

"I ain't noticed," Daryl joked. "Just thought the cold water might be a bit much still, y'know, with your pain."

"It's not so bad today," Beth said with a small smile. "Though if I knew it would get me a hot bath, I might've faked it."

"How'm I gonna be able to trust y'now, Beth?" Daryl asked.

"Lord knows," replied Beth, rolling her eyes. Before Daryl could take the water inside, Beth stopped him. "You know, I'm sure we could split the water no problem."

"Nope," Daryl responded. "Stop makin' a fuss and let a guy do somethin' nice."

"Alright, alright," Beth said, holding up her hands in defeat.

"Besides, I'm just gonna jump in the stream later," Daryl said. "Y'know, after you're finished."

"You gonna take the girly soap with you too?" she asked.

"I'unno," he replied. "Ma used to say I was like a dog anyways - as soon as I was clean, I'd just go rollin' in the mud. Whatever soap I use, I ain't gonna smell pretty for long."

Beth moved her head closer to him and sniffed. Daryl felt uncomfortable. He knew she must be smelling dirt, and sweat, and possibly blood. _Ain't nothin' a girl would want to smell, _he told himself.

"I kind of like the way you smell," she said. "I mean, you stink, but it's nice. You always still kinda smell like Daryl underneath."

"And what's that mean?"

"You know, like wind and motorcycle oil," Beth said. "Which is funny cause you haven't been on your motorcycle for ages now."

"Must be in the blood," he said with a smirk.

"Yeah, maybe," Beth said.

They walked into the house together silently. Daryl was careful not to spill the hot water, which was hard because the steam was rising up and burning his knuckles. When he reached the tub, Daryl dumped the hot water in with the cold, and watched as Beth swirled her hand under the surface and flicked the droplets off at him.

"You're in a good mood," Daryl commented.

"Well, ain't everyday a girl gets to take a bath anymore," she replied. "Now how 'bout that towel, Daryl Dixon?"


End file.
